Portrait of a Scientist
by Peachly
Summary: KS Artist AU. A chance meeting with Jim, a struggling artist, will cause Spock, a practical Vulcan scientist at the VSA, to stumble into something he didn't know he needed.
1. Chapter 1

Once when Spock was very young, he asked his mother how she felt when she arrived to the planet Vulcan for the first time. She told him, "It was exactly as I had expected, and yet nothing like I had imagined." Naturally, as many things his mother has said, this confused him greatly. It was not logical or possible for something to be as one anticipates, but also be surprising.

When he asked about this discrepancy, she did what she normally did when Spock or his father pointed out that something she did or said was illogical: She merely smiled and offered no explanation. At the time, Spock would have felt annoyed if he allowed such emotions. Now that he was older, however, he was amazed at how accurate many of her comments were.

He was aware of the bazaar, the product of a small community outside the city of Shi'Kahr populated mostly by aliens. He had seen images of the crowded streets. He had heard tales of the disorganization, the filth and the impolite inhabitants. He had seen curious items and eaten food bought from the stalls.

But he had never been there.

It was his mother who insisted he come with her after he returned home from the Vulcan Science Academy where he had been researching the movement trends of each type of solar neutrino in relation to matter-antimatter reactions at non-warp speeds. He had initially refused her request, planning to analyze the data he had collected that day, but she would not allow him to 'be cooped up in his room on such a lovely day' and promptly herded Spock out the door.

It was loud. That was the first thing Spock noticed. He could hear the noise from 5.2 blocks away as they approached. He winced as he and his mother entered the bazaar. There was shouting, laughter, clanking, banging and, underneath it all, he could barely make out the sound of music.

It was much like he had expected. It was very congested with all manner of beings that pushed and shoved their way through the streets, giving him the need to reinforce his mental shields. He had known there would be a wide variety of things that could be bought, but he was overwhelmed and surprised by the amount. Each stall overflowed with items on shelving. While cluttered, there was a certain method to the chaos, each stall placing their wares in ways effective for catching the eye. There was a large amount of competition between vendors who sold similar products and they needed a way to stand out from the others. Colorful scarves and bags hung over the entrance. Trinkets and shiny metal objects glittering in the sun hung on boards with hooks. Of course many of the items were illogical, but that was to be expected when many things that Vulcans deem as illogical were necessary in alien cultures.

If that did not work, the vendors would speak loudly and attempt to usher in customers. Spock soon realized why his mother insisted he come. One hard look to a vendor attempting to put his arm around her shoulders to maneuver her into his stall and the man immediately gave up to pursue someone else.

They both walked quickly through the congested streets, not stopping to look at any stalls. As they moved farther along, the stalls began to hold more artistic wares and the streets were less populated, allowing for better maneuverability. His mother smiled widely and connected their arms at the elbow, leading him slowly through the street. "I always love coming here," she said, still needing to speak louder than normal even if the noise level had decreased. "I'm glad you came with me today."

"I cannot surmise why you would enjoy such a place," he admitted.

She slowed down momentarily to quickly survey a window full of brightly colored jewelry before continuing to walk at their normal pace. "It reminds me so much of home. Of Terra," she corrected.

"The noise?"

She gave a bright laugh. "That is a part of it, I suppose. I love being surrounded by so many things happening at once and blending together that it overwhelms me. And yes, I know how illogical that is," she added when Spock looked down to her quizzically. It always puzzled him that she could point out when she was being illogical, yet never attempted to offer any explanation or correct it.

"Oh! Paintings," she said suddenly pulling Spock towards a small row of the three stalls containing canvassed art. The first contained simplistic pictures that were almost cartoon like, the inaccuracies of which he was never fond even as a child. His mother seemed to have the same opinion because she moved passed it after only a few short moments.

The second stall mostly contained calligraphy. The stylized words were difficult to read, and he would not understand why one would want to hang simple words on their wall. They were in differing alien languages with the translation in Standard on paper clipped on. Spock recognized and could read many of the words without looking at the translation: hope, love, peace, wealth, health. Although he did note that some of the translations were inaccurate. _Abrun_ did _not_ mean 'prayer'. His mother spent a few minutes in this stall, but ultimately left without buying anything, much to the vendor's thinly veiled ire.

The paintings in the third stall were much more appealing. Portraits and landscapes made up most of the pictures. They were more realistic, though still stylized. He determined that many different artists did the paintings, though he could not recognize any of the names or techniques.

As his mother wandered by one wall of paintings, slowing to study them all, Spock began on the opposite side. He found none of them particularly appealing. He stopped to look at a portrait of a young female human that he recognized as an exchange student at the Vulcan Science Academy. She was attractive with dark skin and a long ponytail. Spock did not know her name, although he inferred she must be intelligent to have been accepted to study at the VSA. He wondered if she knew the artist. Based on the inaccuracies, Spock had the suspicion she did not pose for the painting.

"Finding anything you like?"

Spock turned to see a male human standing a bit too far into his personal space. Spock leaned back slightly away from the man. He had dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. A large grin filled most of his tan face. He smelled of paint and a spice Spock could not place. He assumed the man was an artist.

"Not particularly," Spock said.

Instead of faltering, the man's grin grew. "You have very discriminating tastes."

"I do not see much purpose in art," he admitted.

"I guess I can understand that," the man said, looking at the painting in front of them. "Art's supposed to move you. You can't really see the beauty in art if you don't have emotions to be affected by it.

Spock frowned slightly. "I can recognize beauty."

He smirked and looked back to him. "It isn't about beauty. Not really, anyway. A lot of art is pretty, but there's also ugly and disturbing art. It's about having an effect on the viewer, positive or negative."

Spock's eyebrows furrowed. He did not believe he understood.

The man studied him for a moment. "Have you ever been painted?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I have not."

A large grin appeared on the man's face again as he brought a hand up to angle Spock's face higher, causing the Vulcan to quickly raise his mental shields against the artist's emotions sent through the contact. "You're far too stunning to have not been immortalized in a painting."

Spock has to stop himself from blushing green under the scrutiny of the alien blue eyes. He pulled back, away from the man's touch. "My image can be just as easily preserved with the use of a holo-imager. It would require far less time and effort."

The man cringed. "There's a difference between an image and a painting. A holo-imager can't record the _spirit_," he said as he put a fist to his sternum. "There's no life in a hologram."

"There is no life, or whatever you define as spirit, in a painting."

The man gave him a patient look. "No, not technically, but it's the essence that needs to be captured. It's the essence that affects people."

Spock tilted his head slightly. "That is highly illogical."

The artist rolled his eyes, seeming to have run out of patience. "There's no use explaining art to you Vulcans. As smart as you guys are, you're complete idiots when it comes to the abstract."

Spock opened his mouth to protest such an accusation, but was not given the opportunity when his mother returns.

She smiled widely and handed the painting she is holding to the artist. It appeared to be a scene of a crowded street similar to this bazaar, done by the same artist who had painted the young woman's portrait. "I would like this painting."

"Ah," he said, grinning as he took the canvas and examined it. "A James T. Kirk original, this is."

"Oh?" she asked, before a thoughtful look appearing on her face. "I'm afraid I've never heard of him."

He chuckled. "I'm not surprised. You never really hear of many artists until after they've died, starving and penniless."

"Yes, I am afraid that is how it seems," Mother said, smiling sympathetically. "Are you personally acquainted with him?"

"_Intimately_," he said as he took the painting to the counter at the back of the stall and began to carefully wrap it in many layers of thin brown paper. "Unless you believe in that theory that the one person who knows you the least is yourself."

She was silent for a short moment before her eyes widened. "Oh! Is this _your_ painting?"

He nodded. "That it is, and I thank you for buying it. Normally, I would just give one of my paintings, free of charge, to woman as pretty as yourself, but I'm afraid I'm a little short on my rent this month."

She blushed, and Spock was not sure if it was because he was the artist or because he complimented her. "It is a very lovely painting."

He grinned widely at her. "Thank you, m'lady."

She attempted to subdue a large smile as she rummaged through her purse and handed him a credit chip.

He glanced down behind the counter for a moment. "Uh, I don't think I have enough change."

Mother gave him a dismissive gesture. "Oh no. Don't worry about it."

Kirk looked completely taken aback and Spock looked much the same, although only through a raised eyebrow. "Five– This painting isn't worth that much, ma'am."

"Then consider it a tip," she said.

Kirk glanced down. "That's a huge tip."

She smiled. "Than consider it credit and I will merely need to come back and buy another."

He chuckled. "Alright, but I'm holding you to that," he said, pointing a finger at her. "I better see your pretty face again. Both of you." He looked to Spock, his smile shifting slightly to something sultrier much to Spock's discomfort.

His mother seemed more amused by this than disturbed. "I promise," she assured with a smile as she took back the wrapped painting, giving it to Spock to carry. "Thank you for the beautiful painting," she said as she turned to leave.

"My pleasure," Kirk replied, though looking at Spock with the same flirtatious smile when we said it.

Spock merely raised an eyebrow and followed his mother out of the stall.

Once they were well out of the human's earshot, Spock glanced over to her. "You seemed amused by the exchange," he noted. "May I inquire as to why?"

She smiled and looked up to him. "It isn't often I'm flirted with by a handsome, young man, especially here on Vulcan."

He stopped a frown from fully forming. "Was it not impolite to act in such a way? You wear a ring indicating your marital status. I doubt that he did not see it."

"He wasn't being serious, Spock," his mother said. "He was merely being personable."

"Other vendors were as well but you did not seem amused," he pointed out. Luckily the blond artist had not attempted to touch her as others did.

"They aren't personable; they're invasive," she said, sounding annoyed at the thought of them. "You may not be able to recognize the difference because you do not spend enough time around emotional beings, but there is one. I think being flirtatious is merely Mr. Kirk's usual demeanor with everyone. He flirted with you as well, did he not?" she asked, failing to hide a smile.

Spock raised an eyebrow. He had assumed, and rather hoped even if it was illogical to do so, that no one else had seen or heard that. It had unsettled Spock, the man's boldness and disregard for his personal space. He saw no difference between his actions and the actions of the other merchants.

As he and his mother walked back towards the more crowded streets, Spock chose to put any thoughts of the man aside. Perhaps he could contemplate the occurrence later to analyze his own reaction, but the probability of seeing Kirk again was too low to ponder him more than he already had.

* * *

**Author's note:** Special thanks to my beta, bigkitty-chan, who has an art!AU story of her own (go read it!) and encouraged me to write this even though I felt like I'd be copying. I made sure to make it different, though. This whole story was basically started because of an idea I had that won't manifest itself until later in the story. I really want to write it out, so I'll have to work hard on this so I can post it... I really need to stop making more WIPs. I don't want to be one of those people with a a shit load of stuff but never updates... I'll try to update more, promise.

Peachly

PS: _Abrun _is Vulcan for 'erection'. Which I'm sure some people use to 'pray' with._  
_


	2. Chapter 2

**Note to readers: Spoken dialogue in _italics_ means they are speaking in Vulcan.**

Spock embraced the silence. He never noticed how quiet the lab was until after the trip to the boisterous bazaar. The computer beeped musically to Spock's commands. He typed with speed, a skill developed over the years. There was a grace to the movement of his fingers that he would not notice until pointed out. The machines whirred lowly. Periodically, he glanced over to the Higgins' Regulator's displays to confirm the environment was remaining stable. After an average of 2.13 minutes from the trail start, the sensors would ping a notification that the neutrinos had reached a velocity that was no longer detectable. Spock studied the results a moment, comparing them to the means and trends he had calculated arbitrarily in his mind. Finding them within his predictions (unsurprisingly, of course), he transferred the data to the server before resetting the variables and re-locking the controls. The computer beeped to his commands and the machine began to whir again.

The tedious and repetitive task was relaxing. Spock normally enjoyed having to think and reason out a problem, but his mind had been slightly chaotic since the intense interaction yesterday afternoon with so many beings that projected their emotions. While tedium was nowhere near as insightful or revealing as meditation, it allowed his thoughts to settle to be organized at a later date.

Spock was lulled so fully into the calm that he became particularly aware of the approaching footsteps that disturbed his quiet sanctum. He suppressed the slight annoyance at the disruption. The footsteps, which he reasoned to be of two male Vulcans and one female alien, most likely human, based on the differing rhythms and tones of their heals on the stone floor.

They stopped approximately 3.5 meters behind him. They remained silent to allow to Spock conclude the latest test. Instead of beginning the 432nd trail, Spock placed the regulator on standby before standing and turning to approach the visitors.

He recognized the two Vulcan males as Stonn and Speren, both fellow researchers at the VSA. While they were now less antagonistic than when they had been younger and would attempt to provoke emotional responses from Spock, an action his mother referred to as 'bullying', they still projected an aura of slight disdain.

The woman was indeed a human female and, in fact, was the dark-skinned woman he had seen in a painting at the bazaar only yesterday. Now that he thought of it, that vendor, Kirk, must have been the one to draw it. He wondered faintly if they were acquaintances before shoving all thoughts of the man aside.

Speren was the first to speak. "_This is Cadet Nyota Uhura, a transfer from Starfleet._"

Spock nodded a greeting to the cadet, who nodded in return with a slight smile, an expression most likely unconscious.

"_She has come to the Science Academy to study linguistics and improve her Vulcan language skills,_" Stonn explained.

When he paused, Spock said nothing in return. This seemed to irritate Stonn somewhat, which confused Spock as his statement warranted no reply and he should not have been expecting one. If they came to him with a purpose, they should state it.

"_We believed you would be the best candidate to aid her with her conversational skills._"

Spock raised an eyebrow and refrained from glancing at the cadet. He did not specialize in linguistics, although he was proficient beyond the standard set for all Vulcans. "_Explain_."

Stonn gave him a steady look._ "You are currently at a stage in your project where cognition is not truly needed. You are collecting quantitative data and have the option to analyze it at a later time. Our project, however, requires constant evaluation of qualitative data; we would be unable to engage her in conversation that would benefit her learning_."

"_You also have more experience communicating with humans_," Speren added.

Spock gave them a blank look. The last comment may have sounded like an after-thought, but he could not help but believe it was their true reason. They were alluding to his human mother. If he were to give them the benefit of the doubt, he would say they thought he was more accustomed to being in the presence of humans and their illogical natures, both due to his mother and the short periods of time he had spent on Earth while his father had work at the Vulcan embassy.

He did not think that was the true motive. Having such 'impure' blood caused many of his fellow Vulcans (for he did consider himself to be a Vulcan) to assume he was more susceptible to emotion. It was true that he had demonstrated more emotional outbursts than other Vulcan children, but the it was the higher frequency of taunting that caused the higher frequency of incidents, and his blood was an indirect cause.

Spock was not going to revert into the manner of a human, no matter what they believed. Nor did he have anything more in common with humans than any of them. He was as Vulcan as they, and could argue he was more so.

He decided not to press the issue. Not only would they never allow the argument to end against their favor, he knew that they must be shuffling Cadet Uhura around each department. The VSA allowed so few exchanges, and, although this meant the human woman was exceptionally gifted, she was still a human, and most Vulcans would prefer to keep their distance.

The tightness around her eyes and mouth told him his assumption was correct and that she was more than aware of their intentions.

Whether it was to avoid more illogical confrontation, or because of a feeling of connection or maybe even pity, Spock nodded. "_Very well_," he said.

They returned the nod before quickly turning and leaving. Vulcans do not rush, but it was the word Spock was tempted use to describe their retreat.

Spock paused a moment before turning to Cadet Uhura.

She gave a weak smile. "_I apologize if I am an inconvenience_," she said. Her Vulcan pronunciation was below satisfactory, but even his mother had yet to perfect speaking the language after living on Vulcan for 28.63 standard years.

"_You are_," he confirmed, "_but as I appear to be the only one available, I will endure._"

She hung her head down to hide a smile. Humans always seemed to either be amused or offended when speaking with Vulcans. Of the two reactions, Spock was grateful she was humored by his response; it was very inefficient to explain his logic behind every statement. She soon recovered and tilted her head back up. "_They said you had more experience with humans. May I ask how?_"

Spock turned back to the Higgins' Regulator. "_My mother is human_," he supplied.

"Oh!" she interjected and Spock turned back with a raised eyebrow. "You're," she began in Standard but stopped and cleared her throat before speaking again in Vulcan. "_You are the son of Ambassador Sarek and Amanda Grayson. You are Spock_."

"_I am_," he said simply as he sat down. He was already behind schedule by 11.34 minutes due to the interruption.

"_I did not realize_," she admitted. "_I had thought you would be more human_."

If Spock flinched, it was minute and Cadet Uhura did not see it. "_It is a false assumption many people have_," he said. He did not want to offend the woman. She most likely did not realize the insult implicated in her words. She was merely attempting to initiate conversation; that was her purpose here, after all.

"_Are you familiar with most human customs_?" she asked. She unfortunately did not seem to sense that this was a topic he wished not to discuss. He did not blame her for it, however. It was most likely the only connection they shared that could be used as a basis for a conversation.

It was likely her only connection with any Vulcan here that could be used as a basis for a conversation.

Spock had to remind himself that there was no logic in feeling displeasure for the fact that Stonn and Speren's logic was sound.

"_As my parents agreed to raise me in accordance with Vulcan philosophy, there were few human customs in which my mother was permitted to involve me,_" Spock explained as he began the trial.

"_I understand,_" she replied slowly, which gave Spock the impression that she did not. "_Have you ever been to Earth?_"

Spock gave a nod. "_My father makes frequent trips to Terra, and I would accompany him and my mother there when I was younger. However, I rarely left the Vulcan Embassy_."

Cadet Uhura drifted into the Spock's peripheral vision when she inched forward. Perhaps she wished to examine the displays. For what reason, Spock was unsure as the Higgins' Regulator's operation was executed in Standard and she would most likely not understand the data. Perhaps she was unsure if she should take the seat next to him. "_I would have expected your mother to take you somewhere,_" she said in a prompting manner.

"_When I was 7.23 standard years, she did insist I visit a human elementary school for one day_," Spock confirmed.

The cadet looked surprised as a tiny smile grew on her lips. "_She did?_"

"_She had been an elementary teacher when she met my father. She wished to show me the standard education system on Earth. She wanted to enroll me into a class for a week, however my father refused_," he said. He was rather surprised he was revealing so much. He rarely spoke of his mother with others. Although unlike Vulcans, he knew this human would not judge him negatively for her. "_The only reason he permitted me to attend one day was because I requested the opportunity to observe the differences in methodology for teaching information to children._"

"_What was your impression?_" Uhura asked, trying to hide her smile. She finally seemed to have built up the confidence to sit in the seat, her hands clasped gently on her lap.

Spock glanced over, an amused glint most likely in his eye. "_I found it lacking_."

"_I am not surprised,_" she said, her smile becoming wide and brightening up her whole face. "_Vulcans are able to learn much quicker than humans_."

"_Indeed,_" he said as the regulator beeped its completion of the trail. He focused on the display. "_It had been 'arts and crafts day' and the class consisted of creating pictures with tempera paint. The teacher wanted me paint without a brush but I refused_."

A small laugh passed through Uhura's lips. "_She wanted you to fingerpaint?_"

"_She did, however I convinced her the logic in allowing me to use a brush_."

"_I have met Vulcan children. They can be very persuasive when they want to be,_" she said. "_Do you remember what you painted?_"

"_Of course_," Spock said.

Uhura did not seem surprised. "_What was it_?"

"_Three_ Leucanthemum vulgare."

She was quite for a long moment. "_Flowers?_" she asked.

Spock nodded. "_It is commonly known as a_ daisy."

Uhura's smile turned softer. "Daisies? _Why did you draw_ daisies?"

"_My mother grows_ daisies_ here_," Spock confided.

"_Here on Vulcan?_" she asked surprised. "_It must be difficult_."

"_Quite,_" he agreed. "_Even with a specialized green house, it requires much time and energy to sustain a flower from a temperate climate on a desert planet_."

They sat in a companionable silence for 1.6 minutes in which Spock completed another trail.

"_Your mother sounds like a very cautious person_," Uhura finally said, a soft smile still on her lips.

Spock glanced over to the human woman, slight humor in his eyes once again. "I believe you mean _tun-veh _, 'caring one'," he suggested. "_Yuzh-veh_ means 'cautious one'."

Uhura put her hand to her mouth, both to show embarrassment and to hide a laugh. "Yes, that was what I meant to say."

He gave a nod. "_She is._"

* * *

**Author's note:** Man, I feel so bad! I actually wrote a lot for this story (because I really like it and I have a lot of ideas) but this chapter just did NOT want to be written and was killing me. The updates should be more frequent now, promise. This _is_ a KS story and Jim will be returning in the next chapter.

EDIT: I forgot to thank my beta, bigkitty-chan (who also has an art!AU story of her own you should read)!

Please forgive me and all reviews are appreciated!

Peachly


	3. Chapter 3

The next 15 days had been fairly uneventful. Cadet Uhura, who insisted he call her by Nyota, visited him 8 more times with her stay lasting for an average of 3.9 hours. While his efficiency dropped by 7.3% due to the distraction of conversation, he found her company pleasant.

Their conversations never seemed to stray far from Nyota's experiences in Starfleet or Spock's times on Earth, but they were comfortable. She asked about his mother a few times, and Spock would supply small stories of when he was younger. Why he had spoken of her the first day was a surprise to himself, as she was a topic he never brought up himself.

On the 16th day, Spock made plans to return to the VSA. Uhura would not be there that day, and he suppressed any disappointment he may or may not feel. Spock was walking from the common area of his home towards the front door when he noticed a difference in the decor. It takes him 0.34 seconds to realize the change. His mother had hung Kirk's painting in the foyer. He hesitated before walking past it.

"Oh, Spock," his mother called from behind him, causing him to stop and turn. "Do you have any free time today?"

"I am able to rearrange my schedule if need be," he said with a small nod.

"Good," she said, smiling brightly. "I was wondering if you could go back down to the artist market for me."

Spock raised an eyebrow. He had rather hoped to keep his distance from the noisy bazaar. "For what purpose?"

"I was thinking last night," she started, and Spock wondered why humans always seemed unable to answer simple questions simply. "Your father and I will be celebrating our twenty-fifth anniversary soon, and yes I know _I_ will really be the only one celebrating but anyway, I thought it would be a lovely present to get a family portrait."

Spock looked at her slightly surprised. "We have many recent holo-images."

"Oh yes, I know, but holo-images can be so… dull. They're so common. Paintings are far more vibrant."

He cannot help but speculate if this fascination with art and it's supposed 'life' is a human trait, or if that artist somehow spoke and convinced his mother to believe the same ideas he had tried to convince Spock.

"I would like you to go find out how we can get one. I know you and your father would never agree to actually pose for a portrait for a long period of time, but if it could somehow be done with a very brief sitting, I'm sure I could convince Sarek to at least sit for a short time without complaining how inconvenient it is."

Spock frowned slightly. "Vulcans do not complain."

She gave him a knowing smile. "Oh believe me, they do."

He held back from further argument. "Is there a specific artist you want to paint it or shall I find one?" he asked, although he was sure he knew the answer. He decided to be optimistic and assume he was wrong.

"Why don't you speak to the young man who made the painting I bought? James Kirk, I believe his name was."

Spock had been prepared to stop himself from wincing. "The man we spoke with at the stall?"

"Yes. Blond hair, blue eyes. Very handsome."

He hesitated. That artist had been very imposing and did not seem to recognize personal space. However, if it was his mother's wish, he knew he could not deny her. "Very well. I will go this afternoon."

"Thank you, Spock," she said, wearing the small smile she usually did when she managed to convince either her husband or son to do something for her that was not particularly logical.

He nodded before leaving the house to return to the VSA.

Spock continued his research as planned, but ceased early to give himself enough time to speak to Kirk and return home at his regular time. Before going to the bazaar, Spock found a quiet room in the VSA and meditated in an effort to prevent him from being affected so strongly by the crowd of aliens again.

Once he arrived, he noted he was not addressed as often as he had been when he was with his mother. Perhaps the vendors knew that, being Vulcan, he could not be easily persuaded into buying anything.

Spock made his way to the stall that had contained the blue-eyed artist, but there appeared to be no one currently there. He did not think it wise to leave one's wares unattended. A Vulcan would not steal, of course, but there were many aliens here not known for logical thinking. Soon however, a woman walked out from behind a thick curtain that separated the back into a storage area. He walked forward to the tall blonde who smelled faintly of turpentine. "Excuse me," he said.

"Yes?" she asked. She looked up at him from the counter where she had been writing price tags and suddenly blushed brightly. "Y-yes?" she said again more meekly.

He studied her a moment. "Are you ill? You appear to be flushed."

Her face turned even redder and she quickly shook her head. "No, no. I'm fine. Is… is there something I can do for you?"

"I am looking for another artist who operated this stall 16 days ago," he said.

She glanced around the stall as if to suddenly find him. "Many artists work here. Do you know their name?"

"His name was James T. Kirk."

"Oh, Jim? He's actually a few stalls down." She waved down the street. "The one with the tan burlap over it."

Spock nodded. "Thank you," he said and retreated out of the stall away from the peculiar blonde.

He walked past five stalls until he came to one with burlap casting it in a permeable shadow. He could see two figures obscured by the course canvas. Although the ambient noise made it difficult to hear them perfectly, he could still understand their conversation.

"Tell me you punched that guy's lights out."

"Ouch! Shit, Bones, what the hell are you using? Acid?"

"It's alcohol. What else would I be usin'?"

"Jesus, you don't sell that to be drank, do you?"

"Sure. Scotty buys this all the time."

"Scotty doesn't count. He'd drink motor oil if he had nothing else."

"Probably. So what did they want this time?"

Deciding he had unintentionally invaded their privacy long enough, Spock pulled back the burlap and looked into the tiny stall. It was full of unstable-looking shelves with bottles of what Spock assumed were alcohol.

"Hey gorgeous!"

Spock looked to the back of the stall to see the artist he had been seeking. He was sitting on a step stool with an unshaven man standing next to him. Kirk seemed to have acquired a black eye that was swollen and a split lip since the last time Spock saw him. They appeared to be very recent. Kirk smiled widely despite his injuries.

"Jesus, Jim. Don't scare away my customers," the older man snapped as he put down a damp rag with traces of red blood next to a bottle of alcohol he most likely had been using as disinfectant.

"What are you talking about, Bones? I help draw customers in. And he's a Vulcan; I can't scare a Vulcan."

'Bones' seemed to look at Spock for the first time. He scowled. "What the hell's a Vulcan doing in my shop?" he asked, although Spock was unsure to who the question was directed.

"If you are worried about customers being repelled from your business, Mr. Kirk is not the one doing it," Spock commented dryly.

Kirk laughed brightly and hit Bones on the back with his hand. "He's got you there."

The man glared. "What do you want?" he demanded. "Either buy something or leave."

"I have come to request a meeting with Mr. Kirk," Spock explained as he stepped into the stall to allow the flaps of the burlap to fall closed again.

Kirk, who had picked up the rag and was gingerly dabbed at his lip that had begun to bleed again from his laughing, looked up in surprise. "What? Really?"

Spock nodded. "I have come here to request your services."

Jim smirked. "My services, huh?"

"As an artist," Spock added, suppressing annoyance. He should have known to specify, given humans' tendency to take things sexually.

"Why the hell would you want Jim to draw for you?" the liquor vendor asked.

Kirk looked up at him in annoyance. "Thanks, Bones. I can always count on you to scare away /my/ customers."

Bones snorted and turned back to place the bourbon bottle in with what could be assumed to be his private stash.

Kirk stood and dabbed his lip before giving Spock a subdued smile to prevent his lip from splitting again; the mild smile was oddly disconcerting, as it did not brighten his face as a full smile did. Kirk tossed the rag to the other man. "Thanks. Still on for tomorrow night?"

"Yeah. Sure. Whatever," the man grumbled.

Curiously, the negative tone did not seem to deter Kirk, who snorted in amusement and turned to Spock. "Come on," Kirk said as he lightly grabbed his clothed elbow, causing Spock to stiffen, and led him to the street. "Let's leave Bones to his booming business." Once they were out of the burlap, he let go and they walked back to the stall.

"Thanks, Christine," he said with a smile to the blonde.

She nodded to Kirk before giving Spock a shy blushing smile as she went to the back section once again.

"Lady's man," Kirk said, causing Spock to turn to him with an eyebrow raised. He chuckled as he went back to the counter. He took a few long moments rummaging around as if he had forgotten Spock was there. He finally stood and looked to Spock. "So, uh, what was it that you wanted to buy again?"

"I came to request your artistic services," Spock corrected.

A large grin grew on the man's face. "You want me to paint you?"

Spock stopped himself from blushing from the man's obvious delight. "In a sense. I came to commission a family portrait."

"Aww," Kirk said, though it was difficult to determine if he was truly disappointed because he was still smiling. "Well, I'll take what I can get. How about dinner?"

Spock's brows furrowed. "Clarify."

"To discuss the commission," Kirk explained with amusement. "Someplace a bit more informal and personal. I don't want to talk about something like that here." He gestured to the stall. "Need a place that's a bit more... intimate."

Spock hesitated before nodding. "Very well. Are you available to go now?"

Kirk grinned widely, his lip close to spitting again. "Now's perfect," he said before excusing himself and going to the back to tell the other artist he was leaving.

Spock had initially had a suspicion that Kirk wanted to bring him into a more casual setting for purposes other than business, however his expression seemed sincere. Spock remembered his mother claiming Kirk was not serious in his flirtatious nature; it was merely his way of interacting with customers. By his mother's positive reaction, Spock supposed this method of conversing with humans was effective. It was not going to work on a Vulcan.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thanks to bigkitty-chan again for being my beta! I find Capel's hopeless crush on Spock so amusing. Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Glad to see some people are still forgiving enough to read this even after months of stagnation. Cheers!

Peachly


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